


Other Pieces of The History of Reaveth and Aragorn

by park3rborn



Series: The History of Reaveth and Aragorn [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/park3rborn/pseuds/park3rborn
Summary: Pieces that weren't in the document I unearthed in my email, but were written down by hand in a notebook.





	1. Dreams/Reality

Voices swirled around her, hissing words that had no meaning. Reaveth could have sworn one materialized next to her right and murmured "Reaveth. Follow Me.... Follow my voice..."

"No!" Reaveth yelled and sprinted through the woods.

"Don't be frightened...." the voice soothed, "Come with me."

She knew this was some sort of an evil illusion. 

"No. I will  _never_ follow you!" she growled, hiding her fear with anger.

"You know you're wrong," the voice sneered, "You fear your own weaknesses."

"I don't fear anything," Reaveth snapped, but slowed down to a brisk walk. Her willpower was crumbling slowly and she knew it.

"Blast," she swore. She felt it in her stride, it continued to slow until she was walking lesiurely although she tried to fight the urge to stop.

"You know you want to," the voice coaxed.

"No. I. DON'T!" Reaveth cried, annoyed and angry, yet something stirred inside her, calling "Go with him. Give in."

"No," Reaveth murmured as more voices joined the ominous first. While the new voices taunted and mocked her, the deeper and older-sounding voice continued to coax Reaveth until she could no longer stand.

"This is treachery," Reaveth hissed to herself. "He wants me to come to him and leave my friends. I will  _not_ give in!" She heaved herself up and began once more her journey towards who knew where.

The woods became more expansive with every step, yet the voices still followed.

Unable to bear it, she drew her sword from its sheath.

"You picked the wrong time to attempt to delay me," she shouted, "Whosoever still wishes to stop me, may he come forth and fight me like a man!" A deeper part of her whispered, "You're insane. You're yelling at air. Turn back and give up. This is totally hopeless. You will not find what you seek here."

As it so happened, the gruff man's voice was the one who voiced her very thoughts.

Reaveth decided to stop arguing for a moment.

"Do you always bother people and try to drive them insane like this?" she asked wryly.

No answer.

Well, at least for a moment.

The voice seemed to laugh. "You still are unsure, aren't you Reaveth?" the voice laughed.

"How do you know my name?"

He ignored the question. "It is time for you to grow up and stop all of this nonsense. None of this is real. It is all in your head."

"Yes," Reaveth began to agree, but then stopped herself. "No! This is real.  _You_ are the fake one!" she began to leave at a more hurried pace.

The voice sighed and said slowly, "Then you must die. My Master will be pleased to know that the heir of Gondor's king is dead and gone."

"What?!" Reaveth exclaimed.

Suddenly, the wind was knocked out of her and she felt the warm sensation of a deep wound in her side, just below her left lung. Knowing that this was no ordinary wound, and that she didn't have much time before she passed out from blood loss and eventually died, she ran towards the distant light.

"Help!" she shrieked, although she knew it was no use. "Help me!"

After about thirty seconds, her wound seemed to grow twice as large and the world spun, faded, and reappeared over and over again.

"In the name of Elbereth Gilthoniel, will someone help?" she called weakly. It had only been a mere minute and she had collapsed near an old birch.

 

Her cries had not been unheeded, for soon a cloaked rider came to where she lay. After a moment of silent inspection, he lifted the dying Reaveth and himself onto his steed. With a click of his tongue, the black horse was off at a steady canter and the rider with no heed to the horse's course, began to solemnly clean the wound to find to his despair...

* * *

 

"Who's this?"

"Dunedain," came the short reply.

"Dunedain?" the other gasped, "Hurry up then and get her to Elrond."

"I was going to do that," the first muttered and clucked his tongue. The passenger in front of the cloaked rider gave a quiet moan.

"Hold on Reaveth," the rider comforted and sped up the horse's gait.

* * *

Elrond, who had forseen a mishap concenring a Dunedain, was ready when the rider cantered towards the Elven Healing-House. 

"Aragorn," he acknowledged.

"Mater Elrond, you need to--"

"I know," Elrond interrupted. "Take her in."

ARagorn lifted the girl and carried her into a room and laid her on a white linen bed.

"No," Reaveth moaned as Elrond gently stripped off the lower half her shirt.

"No, I won't... Rivendell..."

Aragorn was anxiously peering over Elrond's shoulder.

"Is she all right?" he asked nervously.

Not looking up from the gash, which was about as wide as the wing-breadth of a small falcon and from her hip to just missing her lung, and very deep, the Elf replied, "If by fine, you mean not dead, then yes. She is all right."

Reaveth's body flinched as Elrond's hand tenderly flicked over the wound.

Aragorn, who was already giddy with concern and worry, flinched as well and did not stop asking Elrond  things like "Are you sure this is the right herb?" and "How is she? Will she live?" and other things like such. 

Elrond patiently told the young lad that his sister was fine and would live; but even Elves' patience grow thin.

After about the 25th time of questions, Elrond said, "It would be nice if you would leave so I can focus more."

"But--?"

Reaveth mumbled something like "Sourune" and Elrond ushered him out of the room. Without another word, Elrond returned back inside to find Reaveth still murmuring nonsense. According to what he could decipher, she seemed to be dreaming of her journey.

It sounded something like this:

"Danger..." she would mumble, "Must... no... they'll be..."

And she continued to babble unintelligibly.

Elrond gave up on trying to figure out what she was saying and continued to patch the girl up.

 

Outside, Aragorn paced back and forth for at least 15 minutes until there was a clatter of hooves. He looked up.

Duma and Legolas had pushed their way through the gate guard sand finally arrived.

"Who are you?" Aragorn demanded.

"Either your best friend or your worst enemy," Duma threatened.

"Duma," Legolas muttered and dismounted.

Duma stayed on her horse, eyeing Aragorn.

In Elvish, Legolas said, "Aragorn, it is good to see you again."

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, "How are you?"

"Just fine. This is Duma," Legolas replied, motioning to Duma.

She curtly nodded and dismounted.

"Where is Reaveth?" Duma demanded.

"In the building," Aragorn informed her, "But Lord Elrond does not want to be disturbed."

"Please," Legolas begged, "Our need is dire."

 

Back inside, Reaveth had began coming around but then passing out again. Every time she awoke, her head felt like it was going to explode.

 

After much arguing, Aragorn gave in and led the two Mirkwood elves to outside the room Reaveth was situated in. Aragorn quietly knocked on the shut, and probably locked, door.

There was a grunt. "Who is it?"

"Prince Legolas and Duma Tathren of Mirkwood," Aragorn announced.

"Come in."

Duma took hold of Legolas' hand as comfort as they pushed the oak doors open and stepped inside.

The room was decently sized with four windows, each one set into a wall. The soft grey walls had tree designs and grass painted on them. In the middle of the room lay the bed, which was presently occupied by Reaveth. The cherry-brown headboard was also carved like the paintings on the wall and it was nearly identical except for the trees that were about eight feet high on either corner of the bed.

Legolas and Duma, hand-in-hand, strode to the bed and Duma nearly began to bawl. Reaveth looked pale and sick, and the wound in her side did not make up for anything either.

"Is she--?" Legolas couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

Elrond looked at him, weariness clear in his face, and said, "Nay, she is not with Eru. Not yet at least. I have healed the wound as well as I can."

"How was she hurt?" Duma asked.

Elrond recounted what Reaveth's journey probably was like and as he finished, Reaveth finally was coming fully to her senses. Her head felt like it had been cracked in two, roughly stuck back together, then smashed again, she she didn't speak. In spite of that, the Elves her her quiet moan and walked back. The girl's groggy brain registered the three looking over her and she mumbled, "Where am I?"


	2. Lawrence and Reaveth Romance-y Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Am I getting soft of what?! What's with all this romance stuff?!" There is like no romance to this. Younger me was tripping.

He stood up, gasping for breath. His amber and blue eyes frantically searched the area. No one was in sight.  _Reaveth_ , he thought, dismayed.  _Arathorn, I have failed you_. A tear rolled down his face. He watched it hit the ground and a memory hit him.

_He was in Valinor, kneeling with Gandalf at the foot of Manwe, dressed in a magnificent golden robe with a silver chemise underneath. He himself was dressed not unlike his master except the colors were switched._

_"Lawrence, thou hast successfully been trained in the arts of the mage," Manwe's powerful voice boomed._

_Lawrence nodded, fearing to look at the highest Valar._

_"Mithrandir, is this statement in sooth or in faith?"_

_"In sooth."_

_"Lawrence, art thou prepared to leave this place as a fully fledged sorcerer, aiding thine brethern in their quests, knowing there is no return?"_

_"Yea my lord."_

_"Then rise ye and be known as Turambar."_

He pulled himself out of the memory and bit down on his fist.  _Stay focused. She may still be alive_. He redirected his focus and energy to his nose, relieving himself of his other senses. He inhaled deeply. Pine needles, spring water, moss, and a hint of ash.

_Ash. Reaveth was near a fire._

He sprinted toward the scent, sniffing every few paces like a dog.

He was led through a winding path to the fire pit. He opened his eyes, released the energy back to their original places. As his sight returned, he saw what was left of the battle of Reaveth. 

"Blast," he swore, then noticed the slightest tinge of something to the barer patches in the field. It only lingered in a small number of spots. Turambar, previously known as Lawrence, was tempted to divert again, but he did not. Even Gandalf couldn't focus twice in the same hour without food, drink, or rest.

"Oh, the irony." The slave to misery has been joined with the slave of bad timing. He would have to give it a shot.  _What else have I got to lose?_

 

 

To his good fortune, whoever had taken or killed his friend wasn't very fleet of foot. There were plenty of broken sticks and deep imprints to follow. It reminded him of the time that Gandalf had put out a "hunt the troll" scenario in the woods. He had... Turambar pinched himself.  _Focus._ He suddenly smelled the nauseating stench of fresh manure and blood. Orcs and Reaveth, perhaps?

He saw an area of grass, flattened down as if by a boulder. The crushed path led down an unforgiving rocky hill. He peered down into the abyss. It wasn't pretty. Lightly, he flitte past a monster-sized Orc whose body looked like it went through a cheese grater. Near its huge hand lay a torn strip of cloth that was used to make Elvish cloaks. He stood up and throwing caution to the wind, sprinted down the slope, tears welling in his eyes. He felt his heart shatter. At the bottom lay the feisty girl. She looked worse than the Orc thug, just on her face. There were several slashes across her cheek, a black bruise above her left eye, and a nick on her right ear.

He quickly checked her pulse. It was very slow and hardly distinctive enough to call it a twitch. Her breathing was shallow.

"Reaveth," he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered and opened halfway. Her dark eyes looked defeated, but she garnered the effort to give a tiny smile before closing her eyes again.

He checked her pulse again. Nothing.

"No."

 


End file.
